


Tender Attachment

by Zi_Night



Series: Elia Week [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Elia Fests, Elia Martell Centric, Family Fluff, Gen, Rhaegar Neutral
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-02
Updated: 2020-10-02
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:55:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26765398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zi_Night/pseuds/Zi_Night
Summary: Day 1: FamilyMy first piece for Elia Week. A look into Elia's relationship with her family. From the oldest to the newest to the one she got to choose.All the fics for this week are somewhat connected and can be read all together or individually if you prefer.
Relationships: Elia Martell/Rhaegar Targaryen (Background)
Series: Elia Week [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1950721
Comments: 2
Kudos: 20





	Tender Attachment

1\. Mother

There was never any doubt in her mind that her mother loved her. Her mother was very obvious in her love. She let Doran travel to the Free Cities in Essos, even though the idea of her eldest son never coming back terrified her. She consented to Doran marrying a foreign woman he loved instead of forcing him to remain available for a political marriage in Westeros; although, consented was too mild a word because she had eagerly encouraged Doran to follow his heart.

For Oberyn, she did not discourage his mischief. She did not encourage him, but instead of telling him to stop being unruly she told him to get better at hiding his mischief. When Lord Edgar died of a festered wound after his duel with Oberyn, Oberyn vehemently insisted that he hadn’t poisoned the lord, that he would never be so cruel and careless. Not only had their mother believed him, cutting off his passionate defense because she trusted her son’s sense of righteousness, but then told him that his temporary exile was also an excuse for him to travel to Oldtown, and later to Essos, like he wanted.

Her mother’s love for her was more protective. Her mother never took risks with her health. The first time she developed a fever as a baby, her mother had employed a skilled nurse from the Orphans of the Greenblood to take care of her, and Corissa had stayed by her side her whole life. Her mother made sure she had access to some of the best tutors in Dorne, but still taught her lessons at her knee. Her mother would, without hesitation, cancel trips if she did not feel comfortable going on them. Her mother allowed her to go to the Water Gardens whenever it pleased her, regardless of who was coming to Sunspear. After her failed attempt at an engagement with Jaime Lannister, her mother promised that she would never force her into a marriage.

Of all the things her mother did for her, it was the lessons at her table that she appreciated the most. Their mother always made sure to make time for them, but she was aware that their mother was _making_ time for time. Their mother was the Princess of Dorne, she was the leader of their region of Westeros and, because of that, there was always something she needed to do. And yet, even though there was always something else that needed her attention, and then some, they had always been allowed to walk into their mother’s office to speak with her.

It was a thing her brothers took for granted. Oberyn never seemed to realize that it was odd that their mother always had time for him. He would barge into their mother’s office and never seemed to notice how she would surreptitiously sweep her work to the side. Doran was never as bold. Doran would always announce himself and ask if their mother had time for him, but never seemed suspicious that the answer was always yes.

When she was younger, she would wander in whenever she wanted to speak with her mother, but, once she realized that her mother was busy and making time for them, she began reading in her mother’s office. It made it so that mother was used to her being in her office, without assuming she needed something. Sometimes she went in only to read and, when she actually needed something, she would pretend to read to see if her mother was occupied with something important. But it had taken her a while to come up with that idea.

The first lesson she had learned at her mother’s knee was the one that stuck with her the most. She had burst into her mother’s office fuming to the point that she was almost in tears. Upon seeing her, her mother had put everything aside and pulled her into her lap. To this day she doesn’t remember what she had been so angry about. She suspects that it might have been because a boy made her angry, but that had more to do with the advice that followed instead of her actually remembering.

Once she had calmed, her mother had soothed her hair from her head and had told her, “Elia, this is an unfortunate fact of our world, but it is one I think you should know. Anger, in a man, is a sign of his strength. It is evidence of his passion and his righteousness. But anger, in a woman, is a sign of her weakness. It is evidence of her lack of discipline and her irrationality. You must take care of when you let anger overtake you.”

She remembers pouting up at her mother and mumbling, “That’s not fair.”

Her mother had laughed. “It is not. But that does not mean you are not allowed to be angry. All that means is that you must be thoughtful with your anger. To be careful in how you express it. To be particular about who you share it with.”

“I can share it with you?”

“You can,” she had affirmed. “And your brothers. And whoever else you believe worthy of handling your feelings.”

She had listened to what her mother had said. As she grew older her anger had shifted away from hot impulsiveness and had turned into something cold and patient. It was something she only shared with her family, her nurse, Ashara, and sometimes Arthur. It was a lesson she held onto with clenched teeth and refused to forget, no matter how much she sometimes wanted to. The same was true of the last lesson her mother taught her.

She hadn’t known it would be the last lesson when her mother gave it to her. They had just arrived back to Dorne, after having left King’s Landing where they had begun talks of marrying her to Prince Rhaegar. She had been curled in one of the armchairs in her mother’s study, carefully listening as her mother walked her through the minutia of marriage contracts and what to look out for. In one of the pauses, as her mother considered the documents in front of her, she had asked, “Mother, why did you agree to this match?”

Her mother had immediately stopped reading and looked at her. “If you do not want to marry him I will reject the king’s proposal without hesitation.”

“No, I already made up my mind and agreed to marry. I just thought that you were not interested in northern politics.”

Her mother gives her a long look. “Normally Dorne does not care about what happens north of the marshes. Short of war, the things that happen there rarely affect us. But, as princesses, we have been born into a spot of privilege. Into a position where we have the power to influence all of Dorne. But this marriage would let you influence not just Dorne but all of Westeros.” Her mother had paused, visibly gathering her thoughts before continuing, “But just as the power we have available to us is a privilege, it is also our responsibility to use our power to help those dependent on us. No one will force this burden on you. And I do mean burden, because as fulfilling as this work can be it does come with its own unique difficulties. As I’ve told you before I will not force you into a marriage, no matter how powerful. But there is a chance for you to do a lot of good through this marriage.”

“I understand.”

“If you wanted, you could remain unmarried your whole life. I would haunt Doran from beyond the grave if he tried to force otherwise.”

She couldn’t help but laugh. “I understand.” She then stood from her chair and circled over to her mother’s side. “Thank you, mother.” She had pressed a kiss to her mother’s hairline. “I will marry Prince Rhaegar. And I’ll do my best to make you proud.”

Her mother had squeezed her hand. “You already do.”

2\. Doran

Doran was the more distant of her two brothers. It wasn’t really his fault, not when she and Oberyn were as close as twins, but it was true. Doran wasn’t the one she went to with her secrets, he wasn’t who she went to when she had a crush, and he wasn’t who she went to when she needed someone to cry with. But Doran was who she went to if she had a problem, no matter what kind or how big the problem.

If she wanted something and didn’t know how to get it, Doran would find out how to get it. If she didn’t know how to get someone to leave her alone, Doran would coach her through exactly what she should do to make it happen. If she needed to hide something from their mother, Doran would tell her how she could do it, albeit while judging her slightly. If she didn’t know how to help someone, Doran would help her figure out what needed to be done. She was sure that Doran would help her get away with murder if she asked.

When she goes home, _flees back,_ to Dorne after the Tourney of Harrenhal, she is seriously considering if Doran will help her get away with murder. It is an uncharitable thought, but it is the one she has none the less. It is less about the humiliation and more about the carelessness of it. If Rhaegar had told her that they needed to win the favor of the Starks she would have thought of something. Something worlds more effective, and subtler, than what he had done. But he hadn’t asked her, he hadn’t even informed her that there had been an ulterior motive to the tourney, and that thought burned when the ulterior motives had been obvious to even King Aerys, but not _her_.

Though the thought could also just be a product of having to manage Oberyn. If she killed Rhaegar then she would have to stop wondering if Oberyn’s rage would boil into action. Her brother was more indignant about the whole affair than she was. When Mother had noticed Oberyn’s hedonistic tendencies, she had drilled it into her brother that a woman’s reputation was her power and that reputations were fragile. That it could be shattered as easily as glass and then that woman would have no more power in the world, no matter what she was capable of. It was a lesson Oberyn took seriously, and one he did not forgive other men for not learning. Oberyn knew she had a mind for politics and he would not forgive Rhaegar if his actions took that power from her.

She didn’t know how she felt about what Rhaegar had done. He had told her that he was doing it to make a connection with the Starks, but surely a connection with the Stark heir was more valuable than the daughter who was engaged to Lord Baratheon. If this had been about a paramour she would have preferred if Rhaegar had talked to her about it; but Rhaegar had always been so hesitant in his affection, like he had never seen it and like he wasn’t sure if he was feeling it, so that assumption felt wrong. She didn’t even think Rhaegar had done that with the intention of shaming her. Rhaegar was always much more impulsive when he hadn’t slept in days, but whatever had sparked his impulse was a mystery to her.

She hadn’t even had much time to wonder why Rhaegar had done what he had done until they had arrived in Dorne. That final day of the tourney had just been her managing the fallout of Rhaegar’s crowning. Trying to keep Oberyn from confronting her husband, trying to ignore the pitying looks, trying to make sure that people kept Robert Baratheon away from her husband, trying to manage the king’s mood swings, trying to manage what was being whispered about the event, and a dozen other things that kept _her_ from being able to think about what happened.

The closest she had gotten to thinking about how she felt was when she had made eye contact with Brandon Stark. When the _Wild Wolf_ of House Stark had looked at her with pity in his eyes, she had been mortified. The man was known for being licentious and arrogant and for him to look at her with pity, told her all she needed to know about how humiliating this event reflected on her.

Even after spending weeks in Dorne, she still didn’t know how she felt about what Rhaegar had done, much less what she was going to do about it. She was distantly aware that she was avoiding having to think about it. That filling her days with activities for her and her child was her attempt at having so much to do that she didn’t have time to think about what had happened. To be fair to herself, she had a good reason not to think about it, stress could be dangerous in a pregnancy. Her emerging belly had only made Oberyn angrier, she was starting to wonder if maybe he should leave for Essos _before_ he did something truly spiteful.

It was only after she had arrived in Dorne that she had started to show. She had only realized she was pregnant on that final, eventful day of the tourney when the smell of food had nauseated her in a way it had only done once before. Her moon blood had always been too irregular for her to be able to tell on that alone. A morbid part of her wondered if Rhaegar would have still done what he did if she had been visibly pregnant at the time. She doesn’t let herself linger on the question too long because no answer she can come up with is ever satisfying.

Still, she can only avoid her life for so long. The farther she gets into her pregnancy the more urgent the question of what she wants to do becomes. There will come a point in her pregnancy where it would become too dangerous to travel and if she wanted to go back north she had to make that decision before then.

No matter how upset she was with Rhaegar, she didn’t want to keep him from the birth of their child. When Rhaenys was born, Rhaegar had fallen in love with their daughter almost as quickly as she had. Rhaegar’s mood after Rhaenys birth had been so much lighter than she had ever seen it, which was impressive because she knew that Aerys had been actively trying to make Rhaegar’s life difficult. She didn’t consider herself a cruel person, she knew that the only reason she and Rhaenys were in Dorne right now was because Rhaegar felt bad about what he had done, but a petty part of her didn’t want to go back to Dragonstone.

She didn’t want to leave Dorne. She didn’t want to leave the place where she felt safe and comfortable. She didn’t want to leave the place where she could spend her days with Rhaenys and Ashara and pretend that everything was fine. She didn’t want to go back to the place where people were trying to actively ruin her family. She didn’t want to have to decide how she felt about what Rhaegar had done. She didn’t want to decide if her marriage was already ruined.

She finds herself thinking more and more about what she should do as her stomach gets bigger. She had a visible reminder of how she was running out of time. She’s thinking about it now, as she watches Ashara carefully put Rhaenys in Arianne’s arms. Mellario is also with them, carefully hovering in case anything goes wrong but too pregnant to really be of help. Arianne looks at Rhaenys with wide eyes, as though she can’t believe that there are people smaller than her.

“Is the boy giving you trouble?” She turns and watches as Doran sits in the chair next to her. He gestures at her hands, rubbing circles over the swell of her stomach.

“No. Compared to Rhaenys this one barely moves.” Sometimes she wondered if her child was alright considering how rarely they moved. Rhaenys used to keep her awake at night with how much she kicked and shifted. Sometimes, when she woke up in the morning, well rested after a full night’s sleep, she worried that something terrible had happened. “What makes you say that they are a boy,” she asks, trying to distract herself from the morbid thought.

“A man’s intuition,” Doran sniffs.

She can’t help but laugh. “You said the same thing when Mellario was first pregnant. Arianne isn’t even a little boyish.”

Doran smiles at her. “Well it has to happen eventually. With both our daughters and all of Oberyn’s girls there has to be a boy eventually.”

“It could be yours,” she says, nodding her head in Mellario’s direction.

“It could be both of us.”

“It could be.” They lapse into silence after that. Watching their daughter’s marvel at each other. She also can’t help but watch Mellario, glowing with happiness as she interacts with Arianne. Mellario and Doran had married for love. She had been the one to introduce the idea, on Doran’s behalf, to their mother, dumping all the lovesick letters her brother had written her and teasingly asking their mother to put her out of her misery. It was the logical choice on Doran’s part. She was the romantic, the one who believed in true love and doing what you could to hold on to them. It was quietly devastating to realize that romance like that probably wouldn’t be a part of her life. “Doran, what should I do?”

Her brother is quiet for a long moment. “I do not know what you _should_ do. All I can do is suggest things you _can_ do. Regardless of what you do, I want you to remember that you never need to forgive him.” With Oberyn’s fiery temper it was easy to forget that Doran had a temper just as bad, only his burned cooler and more persistent. “As far as I see it, you have two broad options. You can go back north and try to make your peace with what he has done. Or you can stay here in Dorne.”

She turns to stare at Doran after that last bit, it is very obvious to her that he is holding something back. “What aren’t you saying.”

Doran grimaces. “Staying in Dorne would put your claim to your children at risk. Rhaegar is the heir of the crown, making his children the next in line. It would be expected that they stay with him. And any attempt to let you keep them would involve dragging him through the mud. Something that is only possible because of Aerys’s opinions of his son and his own carelessness.”

The thought of having to side with Aerys makes her skin crawl. The thought of forcing her children through that made her uncomfortable. The thought of forcing Rhaegar through that made her feel dreadful. “Will you make your peace, if I make mine?”

Doran bristled slightly. He always disliked it when someone saw through his veneer of placidness. “I guess the tradeoff of knowing you so well is that you know me too well,” he grumbles. “Little sister,” he says much more seriously, “there is nothing in the world I wouldn’t do for my family. If you wanted me to make my peace with the man, and then lead by example, who would I be to deny you.”

3\. Oberyn

One of the things she appreciated most about her younger brother was that he never treated her like she was fragile. Especially because she _wasn’t_ fragile. Whenever she did get sick it was dangerously sick, but she didn’t get sick any more than her siblings did. And sometimes her bones hurt and she got headaches for no reason and sometimes she would wake up tired, but, _physically_ , she wasn’t any more fragile than any other girl. The rampant rumors of her fragility were a veneer that she and her family allowed. It was an easy excuse for her to hide behind.

It wasn’t much different from Oberyn’s facade of hotheadedness. Her little brother wasn’t actually that impulsive. Oberyn was thoughtfully cunning, almost everything he did was something he thought out beforehand and later executed, but pretending to be impulsive made people think he was reckless and wild. In the same vein, pretending to be fragile made people think she was harmless, which meant they overlooked her.

Still, as useful as the assumption could be, it was exhausting to be treated like glass all the time. Oberyn was the best at remembering that she wasn’t a delicate flower, but right now she wishes her brother didn’t think her so capable. “Oberyn, when I said I was interested in your martial training this isn’t what I meant.”

Oberyn does not let go of her wrist. “Don’t whine, this will be fun.”

“For who?”

“Hopefully you.” Her brother turns back to grin at her, “Definitely me.”

She doesn’t get the chance to voice another complaint because they arrive at the training room. Oberyn opens the door and ushers her in. The only other person in the room is their master-at-arms, Ser Arron Wyl, a fourth son from a Wyl branch house. He looks up from the things he is preparing and leans forward into a half bow. “Hello Prince Oberyn. Princess Elia.”

“Arron,” Oberyn says, full of casual irreverence, “Elia will be training with us today.”

“Will she?” Ser Arron looks at her with a raised eyebrow.

She appreciates the man giving her a way out. “I will be.”

Ser Arron nods solemnly, as though Oberyn isn’t crowing his victory next to her. The knight gestures them over, so she smooths her skirts and marches over. Once they stand before him, Ser Arron looks them over. “Since this is a unique lesson we will not be continuing your spearwork lessons.” The knight ignores Oberyn’s groan. “Instead we will be going over the basics of self-defense with a dagger.”

The knight hands them both wooden daggers. When Oberyn complains about not being given a blunted dagger, Ser Arron patiently explains that the point of a dagger is just as dangerous as the sharpness of a dagger. He runs them though how to stab, what to aim for, the different ways they can hold a dagger, and what to do with the rest of their body when they were striking.

Once they get a handle of the basics, Ser Arron volunteers Oberyn as her target. Her brother gripes about being punished for no reason, but gives up his own wooden dagger and stands opposite of her. She looks between her own weapon and Oberyn’s unarmored torso. “Won’t it hurt if I hit him?”

“If you can hit me,” Oberyn says at the same moment Ser Arron says, “It can.”

Ser Arron brushes off her brother’s comment and looks at her more directly. “Princess Elia, this exercise is to help you know where to aim. You may know to strike a man in the kidneys but that does not mean you know how to aim for a man’s kidneys. I will not ask you to do anything you are not comfortable with but this is an exercise in aim not force. That comes after you know where to hit.”

She thinks it over for a moment. “Alright. I’ll try it.” Oberyn grins at her and Ser Arron nods. Using her brother as a model, the knight points out her brother’s kidneys, where to aim when trying to cut, and how to reach those points. Once they are sure she knows where to hit, Ser Arron has her strike at her brother. It doesn’t feel right, but Ser Arron was right about there being a difference between knowing where to hit and being _able_ to hit.

It is an agonizing lesson. Learning how to make contact was difficult but understanding how to do it meant that she was hitting her brother, however lightly she was doing it. Ser Arron seems to understand that she can’t really do this and he dismisses the lesson once she can consistently hit. As they go, he tells her that if she ever needs to use these skills she will need to use enough force to kill.

Oberyn doesn’t really like that their lesson ended early. “Elia! You need to know how to defend yourself!”

“Oberyn, the point of having knights is that it is their job to defend you.”

“Still! There is no harm in knowing how to do it.”

“Except that I don’t want to.” Oberyn pouts at her and she rolls her eyes. “I guess you’ll just have to stick around to protect me.”

4\. Rhaenys

She loves her daughter for the moment she lays eyes on her. Her daughter is red and squalling as Corissa puts her on her chest but she still thinks her little girl is perfect. She’s aware of the irrationality of it, when her niece Arianne had been born she had scolded Oberyn for saying the girl had looked like a hairless cat, even if she didn’t necessarily disagree with him. She’s also aware of the logic behind it, she’d had months to grow attached to her child as they grew in her belly, even longer if dreams of motherhood were included. But none of that mattered once her daughter was in front of her. As she looked at her little girl all she could feel was overflowing love.

Corissa tells her that she pouted and whimpered when she pulled Rhaenys off her chest to clean her. Rhaegar refuses to voice any opinion on the matter, but his eyes crinkle in a rare display of laughter so she resigns herself into believing it is true. Though, Rhaegar seemed much less sullen after the birth of their daughter. It felt like Rhaegar tended to get lost in the mire of his mind and it was nice to see that their daughter was a beacon that helped pull him from it.

After her daughter’s birth, Corissa puts her on bedrest. It’s more of a precaution than a necessity, since her birth had gone well but her health was always best when they were careful. And, because it is only a precaution, it means that she can wander around the castle, and sometimes the city, with her daughter. What bedrest ends up actually being is her spending a lot of time doting on her little sun.

Little sun does feel like the best nickname for her daughter. Rhaenys is a little ball of energy, always wiggling and grabbing and curious. Just being around her daughter filled her with happiness and warmth. She seemed to fill almost everyone with warmth.

The Kingsguard all cooed at the sight of her daughter. Her uncle Lewyn and Ser Oswell liked holding Rhaenys over their faces and making noises at her. Ser Gerold had tons of nieces and nephews and always had something on hand for Rhaenys to play with. Ser Harlan and Ser Jonothor liked to hold out their hands so that she could hold on to them, and always made a point of acting surprised by her strength. Ser Barristan was the most hesitant around Rhaenys, he would smile and wave at her but rarely sought out interactions with her. Arthur liked holding Rhaenys and didn’t mind when she would pull at his hair or clothes. Arthur was the only one of the Kingsguard who Rhaenys would fall asleep in the arms of. She suspected that it was possible for Rhaenys to fall asleep in the arms of her uncle, but he always riled her up too much for her to have seen it happen.

Queen Rhaella also loved Rhaenys. She frequently took her daughter to see Rhaella because the woman liked having her around. She like holding Rhaenys in her lap and moving her little arms. Rhaella seemed to like children, even though she had a difficult past with having them. Viserys would always peek from Rhaella’s side, curious about the being who was smaller than him. The boy had always been surrounded by adults and he didn’t seem to know what to do around a child. Rhaenys didn’t seem to mind, if anything her daughter seemed to love the attention, when her mother was safely in view.

The Martell family did not believe that a baby could be spoiled. Babies were picked up the moment they started crying, spoken to whenever they were present, fed even if they weren’t asking to be fed, massaged whenever they were fussy, allowed to sleep in the same room as their parents, and generally pampered. All of the attention seems to boggle Rhaegar, apparently, this was not something that was done with Viserys, but he agrees to do all of it easy enough. There was something very funny about watching her very severe husband, in his very deep voice, very seriously ask their daughter if she wanted to play with a cloth doll or a cloth ball, all while holding both items up for her inspection. Very funny and very endearing.

It is when talking to her that she first sees Rhaenys smile. They are curled in her bed not doing much of anything. She had woken up feeling tired and Rhaenys thought it was too early to be properly awake. It doesn’t keep her from whispering to her baby. “Not feeling very bright, little sun?” Rhaenys wiggles. “It’s alright. It’s a cloudy day and even the sun needs a break.”

Rhaenys kicks out her legs and she decides to rub her baby’s stomach. “I cannot wait until you are older. Until I can hear your voice and you can tell me what you are feeling.” A wash of feeling comes over her. “Oh, my wonderful little girl, I love you so much.”

She pushes herself up on her arm and leans over her daughter. Rhaenys begins to wiggle even more. “I cannot wait to watch you grow. Beautiful and strong.” She leans down to press a kiss to her daughter’s forehead and when she draws back Rhaenys’s mouth is pulled into a wide, toothless smile that makes her laugh. “I’m so happy you agree.”

5\. Aegon

She remembers the birth of her son the same way she remembers a food she hasn’t eaten since she was a child; she remembers that the dessert was sweet, but she can’t actually remember the taste. She remembers that giving birth to Aegon had hurt, but she can’t for the life of her remember the pain.

She’s told that, the moment her son was birthed, Corissa put him on her chest. She’s told that the first time she touched her son it was to smooth her fingertips down his back. She’s told that she kept bleeding after her son was born. She’s told that the room had descended into a flurry to try and keep her alive. She’s told that her son had been passed off to her husband as her midwife, the maester, and their assistants worked. She’s told that Rhaegar didn’t leave the room, that he stayed with one arm holding their son and the other holding her limp fingers. But she does not truly remember any of that.

Her first memory of her son is of him in the arms of the wet nurse, named Mira, that Doran had insisted she bring with her to Dragonstone. Mira had been pulling Aegon from his crib, murmuring soft nothings at her boy. She must have made some sort of noise because Mira had whipped around to look at her. The wet nurse had cocked her son on her hip and had rushed over to her side. Mira had asked her a flurry of questions about how she was feeling, ones she was used to answering whenever she got dangerously sick.

As Mira was coming to the conclusion that she was alright, Aegon had reached his little arms out toward her and whined. Mira had looked at Aegon before asking her, “Do you want to feed him? It is time for him to eat.”

She had nodded her head and Mira had promptly put Aegon on her chest. Then the girl had helped her sit up and arrange herself to feed her son. As Aegon was eating, Mira had blurted out, “You were the first to feed him.” The girl’s face had burned a bright red, highlighting her freckles, but she continued, “You were lucid at the time. And, even though the maester had cautioned against it, Corissa and I insisted on it.”

She had weakly reached out to touch Mira’s arm. “Thank you, Mira.” Somehow, Mira had blushed even more, but whatever else they might have said was interrupted by the appearance of Corissa, who began to fuss over her.

This time the bedrest is less a precaution and more a necessity. She isn’t allowed to wander like she had been after Rhaenys’s birth. Every time she is allowed out of bed it is under the careful monitoring of someone else and for the little physical activity she was allowed to do is that Corissa has assigned to help her healing. It is terribly frustrating even if it technically allows her an abundance of time with her son; though, that time is not as pleasant as it had been with Rhaenys.

It is after Aegon is born that she realizes that she’s given life to something that can die. It feels foolish that it would have taken her so long to realize that. All living things die and motherhood is all about giving life to someone new. It feels extra foolish that she didn’t have that realization until her _second_ child.

But it is what happens. When she was young, all talk of children was about the novelty of it, of how amazing it was that she could create a new human being. In the stories she read, talk of birth and children was all about love, of how children were the ultimate act of two people loving each other. Once she was an adult, all talk of pregnancy turned into a talk about legacy, of how she would give birth to a Prince of Dorne and later a King of Westeros. Once she is actually pregnant, everything she was told was more practical, of what to do and what not to do. She could have had that realization after Rhaenys was born but her daughter had always seemed invincible. Rhaenys had rarely gotten sick and whenever her daughter got injured she would forget about it once the moment had passed. Aegon did not radiate the same invincibility his sister did.

Aegon is frighteningly quiet and still. She is sure that most parents would be grateful if their child didn’t cry much, but it is disturbing how little Aegon cries at all. She understands why the boy might not cry because of hunger, in line with Dornish tradition they feed the boy regularly instead of just waiting for when he seems to be hungry, but Aegon doesn’t even cry at whatever growing pains he must be feeling. At one point his quietness gets so worrying that Corissa begins to wonder if Aegon can hear well. A, thorough, test reveals that there is nothing wrong with Aegon’s hearing and all that does is make her more worried.

She spends so much time watching her son, as though he couldn’t fade away if she was watching him. She watches the rise and fall of his chest. Rests her hand on his ribs so that she can feel his heartbeat. Holds him close to her breast so that she can feel his breath against her skin. Sometimes she wakes up in the middle of the night to go see how Aegon is sleeping. It wears on her nerves and leaves her feeling exhausted.

The only time Aegon comes to life is when he is around his sister. When Rhaenys was around Aegon would kick and wiggle to get closer to her, Aegon would gurgle and whine whenever Rhaenys stopped playing with him, and he liked going to sleep while holding her hand. It was good that Rhaenys didn’t seem to mind Aegon’s attention. If anything, Rhaenys had taken to the responsibility of older sister swimmingly.

She feels guilty about how Aegon has taken so much of her attention that she hasn’t been able to properly take care of Rhaenys. Rhaegar had been watching over their daughter in her absence. Her husband’s haggard appearance and the fact that Rhaenys had been given a kitten to distract her spoke to how much Rhaegar was struggling. But, for all that Rhaegar was struggling, Rhaenys seemed to be doing well.

On one of the days when Rhaenys and Aegon are napping in her bed, she whispers to the pair of them. “I hope you’ll take care of each other. You should always be able to depend on your family.”

\+ Rhaegar

The first time she looks at Rhaegar, it isn’t love at first sight. It is not that the man is unattractive; even though she is mostly unimpressed by the silver prince, she is aware that the prince cuts an elegant and striking figure. It’s just that the first time she sees Rhaegar he strikes her as… _boring_.

In retrospect, it probably wasn’t his fault. She was all too aware of the need to censor yourself so that the courts had nothing to whisper about. Of the false smiles and bland small talk that would serve as shields against insidious rumors and persistent gossip. Of the mental exhaustion that came from meeting person after person for weeks on end when making a progress through a new region. Of the feeling of just wanting it to be done with when you arrive at your destination.

Still, it doesn’t change that her first impression of Prince Rhaegar Targaryen is disappointing. He is polite and charming and well-spoken, but she finds herself looking for something more. For what could have charmed her friend Arthur into being friends with this man. Arthur was a courteous man, but he didn’t just call anyone his friend and he didn’t care enough about politics to befriend a prince for the clout.

But, in the time that Rhaegar is in Sunspear, she finds nothing particularly interesting about the prince. He plays the harp well, dances with the grace of someone who has practiced all their life, and is eloquent in a way that impresses even her. But there is a distantness to the man. It is not an indifference she finds in the heir of House Dayne, who turns up his nose at anyone he dislikes, but more along the lines of someone who hasn’t gotten to interact with people enough and still wasn’t used to it. She finds herself with a neutral opinion of the prince when he leaves her home, neither impressed or displeased.

The first time she finds herself intrigued by Rhaegar is when she and her mother go to King’s Landing at Queen Rhaella’s invitation. Her mother finds the invitation slightly unusual, but is also is so excited to see an old friend that she pushes aside the oddness of the unprompted arrival of an invitation. They are given rooms in Maegor’s Holdfast and are immediately invited to dinner with Queen Rhaella. It is a nice meal with the queen and the prince, but the dinner itself is a tense affair. After the dinner, her mother, obviously upset by something, tells her to go explore the castle or to go down to the city. Recognizing that her mother planned on privately confronting Queen Rhaella, she heads off find Arthur.

When she asks Arthur if he would prefer to stay in the castle or go down to the city, he eagerly gets things ready so that they can leave. They trade their clothes for much more inconspicuous clothing and head off into the streets. Arthur takes her to all the shops he knew she’d like and listens quietly when she tells him stories from home.

At some point in their exploration, they begin to hear harp music from one of the street corners. They make their way around to the corner and find a minstrel playing. The musician has done a good job of hiding his appearance, but she recognizes the harp and she spots Barristan Selmy standing guard nearby. “Is that the prince,” she whispers to Arthur.

“It is. He likes to slip out of the castle to play.”

“Why?”

“He likes being out of the castle, but he also can’t stand not having something to do.”

As they watch, she spots the coins people are tossing at the man. “What does he do with the money?”

“He gives it away. Usually to the orphanage, but someone times to some other business.”

She turns to look back at the prince. _Maybe he is not as boring as I thought he was._


End file.
